Like a Broken Snare
by thesociallyawkwardtwins
Summary: Katniss is killed in the Hunger Games, and Gale is left behind to deal with the pain of losing her. His grief soars to a climax as he comes to say his final goodbyes.


_Disclaimer: I am still not Suzanne Collins, therefore the characters are not mine... Unfortunately._

_A/N: For those of you who have read Snapshots, you could consider this a sequel from Gale's perspective... You needn't have read Snapshots to read this, though. Although, I'd love it if you would go and check Snapshots out if you like this! ;)_

* * *

**Like a Broken Snare [**Gale's pov**]:**

I pretend to be okay. I pretend that I'm not completely lost without her. I pretend that my heart isn't broken into a million pieces. I pretend to be strong. I pretend that I haven't been crying my eyes out in the forest for a good hour.

I can pretend all those things, but they will never be true. How can they be?

_Katniss is dead._

Those three words send another wave of pain through my body. I lean against another tree, clutching its bark with my fingers so tightly that my knuckles turn white. No breath comes out of me, and no air goes in. But the pain is soon replaced with the overpowering sadness and guilt that's been overwhelming me for the past day.

It still hurts to breathe.

I hold my breath, trying to get the aching to go away. I shake my head and grab the two hunting boots off the ground where I dropped them. I force myself not to think about how Katniss wore these boots less than two weeks ago. Instead, I try to imagine that they're just my normal load of game. They aren't boots but squirrels.

I duck under the break in the fence nearest to the Seam. Never before has this part of town seemed so quiet, so dead. The life in the Seam has stopped along with Katniss's heart. I've never thought about how much Catnip meant to everyone else in the Seam. It never seemed important.

My feet drag along the dusty road towards the Everdeens' house. Katniss's body will be there, cleaned and freshened straight from the Capitol. I force back the involuntary fire of rage that explodes in my chest directed towards the hateful Capitol. Never before have my useless rants meant anything more than a way to vent about my horrible life. The ranting never had a full impact on me. The Capitol's blatant lack of respect for the preciousness of human life was never anything more than a possible nightmare. The Capitol had never directly done something to me that sent me reeling into a distant haze like this. And now they have, and the rage is more intense than I ever believed possible.

I stop in my tracks about ten houses down from the Everdeens'. I didn't think anything could diffuse my anger as much as the sight that meets my eyes.

Lines and lines of people are curling down the road from the Everdeens' house. No matter how poor, no matter how desperate. I believe the whole Seam is standing in this line. And they're all waiting to pay their respects to Katniss. The girl on fire.

Part of me wants to get in the line. That part of me wants the support of other people when I see her body. But another part of me, the stronger part, wants nothing more than to run in the opposite direction. I want to turn around and never look back. If I never see her body, if I never see anyone else's face ever again, I'll never have to fully face the pain...

My feet move off the road into the grass, taking to backyards. I'm heading to the Everdeens' back door. Still holding Katniss's hunting boots, I jump the fence in their backyard and walk straight up to the door. I take out the hidden spare key and unlock the door as if I'm in a dream.

I'm not even one step into the kitchen before arms are clutching around my neck, looking for support only a fellow sufferer could provide.

Evidently, Mrs. Everdeen has taken to the kitchen in an attempt to avoiding the grieving, pitying stares of the well-wishers. I honestly can't say I blame her.

Mrs. Everdeen's body shakes with silent sobs as her arms clutch around my neck. Without a moment's hesitation, I hold her closer. Hugging my best friend's mother isn't exactly something I would normally be comfortable doing, but these times are different. There will be no one but Prim to provide some sort of support for her, so I may as well become that presence. She'll need someone who understands the pain that isn't her daughter.

"Mrs. Everdeen," I whisper quietly. "Mrs. Everdeen?"

Gently, I manage to remove her arms from their death grip around my neck. I guide her to the kitchen table and sit her down. She looks up at me with her blue, merchant-child eyes. They are perfectly dry, like all the tears have been used up in a short amount of time. But there is so much pain in those eyes that it hurts to look at her. The sucking, paralyzing darkness that so ensnared her years ago is reaching out again, claiming her as its victim. Once in that kind of darkness, there's no escaping. There is only skirting just outside of reach until you become too tired of running.

Mrs. Everdeen is tired.

"Mrs. Everdeen," I prepare to ask the question, though I know the answer, "are you alright?"

She turns to look at me, blinking her eyes. "_No_," her voice is like a whisper. "I'm so sorry, Gale..."

"There's nothing to be sorry for," I reply quickly. Soothing isn't exactly one of my specialties, but it isn't unfamiliar.

Calming someone down isn't hard if you can read them. And I can read people. I can see Mrs. Everdeen breaking down, shattering before my eyes. She isn't going to cry or scream or any of that. She'll just fall to pieces, like a house of cards, in complete silence. She's easy to read.

You see, people are like snares. I can see snares balancing in my head. I know their pressure points. I know their probable reactions. I can see what will happen when I set them off. I know what I can mess with and what will snap back. People are like snares. I can see all these things in them. Pressure points, reactions, all that. It isn't hard to see, when I think about it.

"Have you come to join them, Gale?" Mrs. Everdeen asks in a whisper. I know she thinks I came to join the line to see Katniss. That is exactly what I don't want to do. But I have to. I _need_ to.

"No," I reply. "I came to bring these." I set Katniss's hunting boots up on the table.

"What?" Mrs. Everdeen trails off.

"She had them hidden in the forest," I reply. "I just thought... She'd rather be buried in these than whatever the Capitol has on her."

Even though I thought it wasn't possible, Mrs. Everdeen breaks into tears. She buries her face in her hands, moaning, "Oh, Gale, you're so... _thoughtful_."

I debate for a moment whether or not I should tell her everything's going to be okay. I decide that no, it's not going to be okay, so that would be lying. I just keep my mouth closed and let Mrs. Everdeen continue to cry.

I stare at Katniss's boots on the table for a long time. I try to imagine a world where her feet don't fill those boots, and it seems so desolate, so hopeless, that it makes my heart cry out for mercy.

* * *

It takes a full four hours for the long line of people to file through the Everdeen's living room. Four hours. I spend those hours at their kitchen table, part of the time joined by Prim. She curled up in my lap about two hours ago. She didn't cry. She didn't talk. She just curled up there against my chest, and I stroked her hair. About thirty minutes ago, she went to bed, silent as ever.

Now it's just me and Mrs. Everdeen and the silence.

I wonder momentarily who will be the first to speak. Ultimately, it's Mrs. Everdeen who breaks the painful stillness.

"They're gone," she says softly. "You can go now, if you want to say goodbye..."

Her voice trails off, too choked to continue. Without saying a word, I stand up and grab Katniss's boots off the table. My hands are pushing the door into the other room open before I can change my mind and run out the door forever.

I shut the door with a soft click and turn on my heels as if in slow motion. The casket is in the direct center of the room. Flowers- something hardly seen in the Seam- litter the floor around her. One particularly beautiful sprig of primrose is actually tucked between Katniss's fingers. Money, trinkets, and notes are placed about the room and on Katniss's coffin. A glint of gold tells me the mockingjay pin is pinned to her chest. She's wearing, as I suspected, a nice, Capitol-approved dress in the color of the sky in the middle of summer. The color of the sky that I see when Katniss and I go hunting... _Went_ hunting.

I take another, singular step towards her, and a strange feeling rushes through me. This was not how I was expecting to react to seeing her body. I was expecting to be revolted, to cry, to be unable to approach. I thought I'd be sinking down the wall, breath caught in my throat, by now. Instead, I find myself drawn to her like a moth to light. My feet move over the ground easily, undeterred. The odd feeling rushes through me again. _Denial_. Katniss's eyes are only shut for sleep; her chest will rise with a breath in a matter of seconds. She looks so peaceful, as if she's having a good dream.

Most people would consider this denial miles better than my expected reaction. But it's worse. Much worse. Facing the truth now would mean it's done with. The grieving can commence. This denial means I have to face reality later. My mind will say Katniss is going to waltz back into my life in a matter of days, but in truth she'll be buried in the ground. It's painful to know that I will have to fear facing reality because I know it will come at the worst times. It will swallow me whole at the moment I least expect it.

I wish that my body would resist moving toward Katniss. I wish I was slumped up against the wall, unable to move farther. At least when I said my goodbyes from down there, I wouldn't have to see her face- her unstirring face.

Instead, I'm standing at the foot of her coffin. I take in a silent breath and decide to do what I came for. I set Katniss's hunting boots on the side table next to me. With another breath, I reach towards her foot. She's wearing nice, Capitol-made heels that she wouldn't have even stepped into in life. My fingers brush her ankle, and immediately, I jerk my hand away, striking the hard side of the coffin. Pain tingles through my finger, but it's better than the feeling of Katniss's waxy, cold skin. I feel the denial in my mind edging away, letting veins of revulsion pulse through me. I have to hold my breath before touching her ankle again.

Her limp ankle lifts easily. Its dead weight is surprising. I slide off Katniss's current shoe and gently set her foot back down. I repeat this again on her other foot, dreading the action more and more. Once both of her white, Capitol shoes are off, I have to take a moment to recollect myself. A horrible, biting terror has been attacking my mind since I touched her ankle for the first time.

I'm scared to do this. I'm _terrified_.

I grab one of Katniss's boots and brace myself to touch the deadened skin again. Surprisingly, it's easier the second time. The denial once again has something to feed off of. The Capitol did this to her skin. It's just fake, isn't it? She only feels dead; it doesn't reach her heart. I almost consciously wait for her to take a breath, but it doesn't come.

My fingers slide up her leg, supporting the weight under her knee so that I can slip on her boot. Her dead, uncontrollable foot resists going into her boot since it's so perfectly molded to her form. I have to slide my hand back down her leg to guide her foot into the boot. I finger her skin as her foot slides into the boot. I imagine doing that if Katniss was alive and something, maybe horror, runs through me. I never once thought about touching her like that. Never once... until now...

My revulsion at that thought overrides my revulsion at having to put her other boot on, so I snatch the other boot off the side table. Without as much difficulty this time, I put on the second shoe.

I step back, then, and move around the side of the casket slightly so that I can see Katniss better. She looks odd lying there with a fancy dress and worn boots on, but somehow it seems very like her. A laugh catches in my throat, a smile on my face. I hate myself for that. How can I even be remotely happy?

I force myself to look down at Katniss's face.

And that's when it hits me.

It hits me like a ton of bricks, sweeping me off my feet and sending me flying.

Waves of horrible grief and guilt fly through me as I stare at her dead face. There's so much that will never happen... So much she wanted, so much I wanted. So much I needed to tell her, so much she needed to tell me.

That was all cut off by the fingers of Fate. I feel a rush of emotion coming from my heart, urging me to tell her now, what I've wanted to say ever since she disappeared on the train to the Capitol. Unable to really control my feelings, I stumble closer to Katniss's face. Her unmoving, unblinking face. My whole body shakes, especially my fingers, as I reach out to brush her hair. Her hair feels just as it would in life... Or how I imagined it would feel, really. I never touched her hair. Let's just add that to the ever growing list of things I never did.

My shaking hand brushes her hair again, all the way down the braid, and it somehow gives my confidence. The shaking calms a bit, my breathing slows ever so slightly so that I'm able to form words.

"Hey, Catnip," I whisper. I try to make it seem like we've just met up in the forest on any normal day, but my voice shakes along with my hand. I search my mind for something harmless to start out with. I tuck a stray hair behind Katniss's ear, and I find a thought easily. "Nice job on your training score. An eleven is rather impressive... I'm- Katniss- I'm proud of you."

The words tumble out like water from a flood gate. I can't talk to her like this. Without her there to respond, I can't speak. I need to feed off something else. I need to see her reaction. A dead body is like a broken snare- I want to fix it, _I need to fix it_, but it's beyond the point of salvation. Something about it can't be balanced, bent, or moved that's preventing it from working. A broken snare.

"Katniss, I should have been a better friend," I say shakily. Suddenly, a burst of laughter finds my lips. I imagine, momentarily, that Katniss's spirit is watching me do this, and the sight is comical. "You're probably mad at me for saying this. You're saying I'm wasting my breath. You're probably crossing your arms, muttering to yourself about how stupid your friends are...

"But, wherever you are, remember that you're just as stupid as me, okay?" I ask quietly. I stroke her hair methodically. "Remember when you knocked down that tracker jacker nest while we were hunting. That was awfully stupid of you. And that time when you thought you could shoot that bear. There is no way you can deny that that was not incredibly stupid. I mean, really, Catnip? There is no rational explanation for trying to take down a grizzly bear by yourself."

My laughter comes out as a choked sob. Remembering all the happy memories makes this all worse because I know there won't be any more. Even the frightening memories that make me laugh now- like when Katniss and I got chased through the forest by the grizzly bear that she tried to shoot. Normally, I can't breathe for laughter when I think about that, but now it just makes me think about how nothing like that will ever happen again.

As my body shakes with suppressed sobs, I realize something terrifying. Every happy memory- well, a happy memory that I crave more of- of mine has Katniss in it. I know that I'll have happy memories with my family, but I expect that. With Katniss, there's a sense of spontaneity, a sense of happiness that's unexpected and contagious. It feels like nothing I've ever experienced outside of those memories.

It feels like flying.

I imagine the lights passing, the wind blowing in my face, as if I was flying. The weightlessness, the freedom, and laughter. That's what my happiness feels like- felt like- around Katniss.

My knees give out as something else hits me. That feeling shouldn't be described as happiness. Happiness doesn't cover half of it. Happiness isn't a strong enough word. There's only one word that could describe that feeling...

And it's love.

I drop my head onto the side of the casket as my body starts to shake with sobs. Love. Something, with every fiber of my body and soul, I wish I had realized earlier. If there's one thing I wish I could tell Katniss, just one thing, that would be it_. I love you, Catnip_. That's it.

Whether the love is sexual or that of a family, I don't know. It doesn't matter. Whether the love is attraction or the highest step of friendship, I don't know. That doesn't matter either. I just love her, and that's all the matters.

My arms are shaking so badly I barely control them enough to take Catnip's hand. I kiss it gently, rubbing circles on the back of her perfect, unscarred hand. I stand back up on unsteady feet. I can't control myself, so I wrap an arm under Katniss's head, pulling her forehead towards my lips. I kiss her temple, her hair. I feel tears running down my face suddenly, which is highly unusual for me. I don't cry. I just don't.

The tears burn my skin, and I can barely force out words. "Catnip, I want you to listen close, okay?" I whisper. "I know you have problems paying attention when people are talking to you..."

I blink, trying to steady myself. I gulp down breaths, shaking erratically. "Catnip," I whisper urgently. "Catnip, I love you."

This causes another ravaging wave of tears. I shake like a leaf in a storm. I choke on my sobs, repeating, "I love you," over and over and over again because I can't get enough of saying it. Katniss will never hear me say it. She will never understand those words coming out of my mouth. She'll never be able to return the emotions, if there even were on her part. I'll never get to tell her I love her to her cognizant, emotion-capable face. Never. Never because the Capitol took her life. They stole her away and killed her before I had a chance to realize, through my thick skull, that I loved her.

And for this, I know right now, the Capitol will pay.


End file.
